What to do, what to do.
My therapist was puzzled when I told her that we (well, I really) had decided to shut off the free-flowing tap of information regarding what was going on in my uterus after the miscarriage this past summer.
Everything was so overwhelming. Our world rocked, shook and crumbled. Again. Times two.
I saw the joy that floods My Beloved's body and soul every time I find out that I'm pregnant turn to anger, sorrow, confusion and disbelief. I saw it in the faces of our family and friends. I saw it in the mirror.
Anguish. Pity. Sorrow. Fear. Fury.
It was at that point that I decided it was better to shut the hell up. For their sakes, but for mine too. I was drowning and I needed to reclaim some of my lost privacy, as well as, I hoped, some peace, space and quiet.
And it did help. For a while.
But now I wonder if my silent movie act has pushed people away. I did what I did because it was the right thing to do at the time, but it's left me feeling cut off from some of the people I love and trust most in the world, and feeling like I have no one to turn to but My Beloved.
And it has made me edit myself here, which is sometimes utterly agonizing. I've always used this space to sort out the jumble of thoughts rattling around in my brain, and to not be able to do that as fully and freely as I've wanted to is getting increasingly harder to bear.
For months I have kept my mouth shut (well, fingers really), and I think I need to stop doing that. Once again, for my sake.
Knowing how much you want to say and how much you need not to say is such a delicate balancing act when it comes to issues of infertility and loss. I need people to respect my privacy while still letting me talk about extremely personal, private things.
It barely makes any sense at all. Except that it does.
So, in the interest of getting things off my chest after 7 months of silence, the long and the short of it is that we're still trying and still failing.
And that's all she wrote.